Contessa's Light
by Jardix
Summary: A short story about humans in old Lordaeron, and a wandering Druid.


**I do not own any of the worlds or characters here, except for the Jotuns and Multishift. I hope you all enjoy this, please, leave comments. I'm open to any constructive criticism. **

Contessa was sick. Very, very sick. Her father worried, her mother prayed, and her brother spent his time dreaming of ways to make her better. He'd all but abandoned his studies of the Light, choosing rather to chase old alchemists and beg a cure-all potion off of them, or convince a wandering hunter to try a new salve or tea, and even abducting her off to visit an old hag in a graveyard that promised to return his sister to health. None had worked, but the last had brought a stern punishment on the boy. He stood in the doorway, watching the younger girl sleep fitfully. Their cottage was small; one room in all. There was a warm fireplace, a loft where he slept, and two smaller beds next to the table where their mother prepared food. His father was hard at work in the fields, plowing the soil with their overworked nag. His mother kneaded bread on the cooking table, humming softly to herself. She was getting older now, but once she'd been a beautiful lady. That's why his father had given up hunting in the northern woods to become a farmer in the mountains of Tirisfal Glades; to give her a more stable life. She could have been a royal; she was prettier than the snooty princess promised to Prince Terenas Menethil. But instead, she'd chosen to keep a small cottage, on a small farm, in a small forest.

Their father was a farmer, who had been a hunter, who came from a line of hunters and farmers. There was nothing unique about the Jotuns; nothing except the old stories passed down from generation to generation. Stories of old, back when the first humans had sailed from a cold land, and founded the city of Stratholme. The Jotuns had once been kings, nobles, and even conquerors, or so grandfather Unther had told them. Now, few Jotuns were left. Yonvar Jotun, the father of the family, had a brother somewhere down south hunting dragons. His last letter told of short men with long beards; Dwarves, he called them, and their even tinier friends, the Gnomes. Contessa liked hearing about the Gnomes, but Tyren, her brother, wondered if uncle Rothar wasn't just drunk when he'd written the letter.

Yonvar's wife, Freyn, came from an almost shady background. She was tall for a woman; and very broad shouldered. She once told her children that her father's father hadn't been born in Lordaeron at all! That had made for an interesting night's story. Tyren often wondered about his mother. The daughter of a man no one knew, who came from a land no one spoke of, who was content to bake bread and raise children. That didn't seem right to Tyren. How could a young, beautiful woman in northern Lordaeron find nothing more exciting to do then raise a family? Tyren would see the world twice over before _he_ settled down, he told himself. His father was… different. He _had_ seen the world, but instead of bringing home exciting stories and presents like other fathers, he brought only warnings and strict rules. Don't go into the forest after dark. Don't leave the valley without _express_ permission, and an army. Don't do anything foolish. Don't don't don't, that was all Tyren heard. How was he supposed to do anything, how was he supposed to help Contessa, if he couldn't leave his own home? He often pouted about long into the night, keeping himself awake with fantasies about the outside world. The small town of Gilneas, the borderlands far to the east where _raptors_ roamed! Tyren didn't even know what a raptor was, but he knew he had to see one! Even if only to bring one back to Contessa. He'd spent so many hours, and received so many punishments, merely to bring something to Contessa. A rare flower, an old arrow head, even just a pretty rock sometimes, _something_ to show his little sister. He'd spent most of his fourteenth year fishing in the great sea for a fabled Kraken, only to bring in a few Brilliant Small-fishes. Lately, his father had been even more strict with him. 'You are in your sixteenth year, Tyren!' 'You shouldn't spend so much time on silly games, Tyren!' 'Learn your lessons, Tyren, the good Priest will only allow so much laziness from you!' Tyren was sick of the demands his father made of him. Tyren was to be a Paladin of the Light, to fulfill his namesake. Tyr, the great teacher of the Light, had long ago blessed humans with knowledge and teachings to defend themselves, and others, from evil. Where Tyr was now, no one knew, but men and women had to be ready to show their new-found knowledge if ever he returned. Tyren had once been fascinated by the Light; but now, the thought of it only brought shame and confusion. No matter how hard he tried, how much he studied, or how earnestly he prayed, the Light had never answered him. Not once. His parents didn't know how badly he was doing in his studies; if they did, he only guessed at what the punishments would be.

"Tyren, go and fetch another bucket of water from the well. Supper will be ready soon." Tyren's mother told him. He had been leaning against the doorframe, staring at his sister's nearly lifeless form.

"Yes, mother." He stepped out into the foggy light, looking up at the faint sun. If those blasted clouds would just blow away, Tyren thought, his sister would get better. A warm day, a dry patch of grass, maybe a good laugh or two, that's all she really needed! But the sun merely hid behind another shielding arm of clouds, content to hide his blessed rays for another day. Tyren shouldered the empty bucket and headed for the well.

Contessa was a pretty girl. Only a few years younger than Tyren, a mere fourteen, she adored her older brother. She'd been sick for so many years; it was hard to remember a time when she hadn't been. Oh, how she longed to run outside, to help her mother in the house, to go on one of Tyren's adventures! But instead, it was all she could do to sit up and sip at the broth her mother fed her every day. She felt as if she were fading away, like a torch into dense fog. She wondered if she would get out of that wretched bed she was confined to. She tried not to wonder often, because it always made her cry. Then her mother would become worried, and sit beside her until she stopped. That was the hardest part for Contessa. Seeing her mother gaze at her with those worried, fearful eyes. Listen to her parents argue about what to do. Watch as her brother tried day after day to find _something_ to either make her better, or at least make her happier. She tried to put on a brave face for him; her despair hurt him the most. But it was hard, harder than anything she'd ever done.

As she stirred, she realized vaguely that supper was ready. Her father sat on a small stool, waiting until Tyren and Freyn had eaten first. Meat wasn't always plentiful, and no matter how hard Yonvar tried, he just couldn't grow enough vegetables to sate the family's hunger. Sometimes, he barely ate at all to ensure that everyone else was full.

Freyn took a bowl of broth and sat beside Contessa, a tender smile on her face.

"Hear, dear, try to eat this." Those soft, blue eyes were the last thing Contessa saw before the blackness overtook her.

"Did ye hear the news about that Jotun girl, down south?" One grizzled fisherman said to another. They sat on the banks of the Lordamere Lake, listening to the stonemason's work on the new city of Lordaeron. The new capitol took the name of the whole region, and would be the new seat of power for the human nation.

"No, has she finally died?" The other fisherman asked callously.

"No, but she's not far from it. She hasn't awoken now in two days; her family's fit to be tied. Nothing they try works; she only gets sicker." The two older men sat in silence for a moment, considering the news. Neither one had gotten a bite recently; the sound of their voices scaring any potential catches away.

"Did you hear about the stag sighted in the north?"

"No, what's special about it?"

"It's pure white. Scared the daylights out of a few hunters; the blasted beast outsmarted them! Led them right back to where they started, and they barely saw the thing!"

"How much ale had they drunk before they saw it?"

"If you believe them, and I do, none."

"Hmm…"

"Hmm." They both sat back, twitching their lines a little. They almost didn't hear the sound of the galloping hooves behind them.

"She's getting worse! I can barely hear her breathe!" Freyn whispered, cradling her daughter in her arms. She stared teary-eyed at the girl, praying fervently that she wouldn't lose her child. Yonvar paced angrily, wracking his brains for something, anything, he could do. Tyren merely stood in the doorway, jaw quivering, eyes wide. Would he watch his sister die? Was this her last day? And then he turned, as he heard the birds change their song. Usually that meant that something had scared them, but then again, they hadn't stopped singing. Strangely, they seemed… louder. And then Tyren's eyes almost popped out of his skull.

There, standing in the clearing, was a white stag. Its antlers were long and curved; its hooves were sharp and pointed. Its coat was white as snow, and black designs sprawled across the taut muscles. Charms and ribbons hung across it, almost as if placed there by gentle hands. But it was the eyes that bored into Tyren's soul. The eyes that stared at him from the edge of the wood, the eyes that seemed to instill peace in him. And then, before Tyren knew what had happened, the stag was gone. In his place stood a tall man, with skin as blue as the oceans, and long hair greener than the grass at his feet. Long, pointed ears seemed as sharp as daggers, and picked up every sound. The eyes remained the same, still boring into him. And then, he spoke.

"Where is the child?" Tyren pointed a shaky finger inside the cottage, and watched wide-eyed as the stranger entered.

Freyn and Yonvar were startled at the sight of him, but he held up a hand to show he was unarmed.

"Who… Who are you?" Yonvar demanded, standing in front of his wife protectively.

"A friend, here to help your daughter. Please, let me see her." Freyn still held the girl in her arms, and shot a questioning look at her husband. But the stranger was in a hurry, and gently scooped the girl up into his arms. He then, almost lovingly, set her back down on the bed, and laid a hand on her forehead. Tyren and his family stared in awe as the man muttered strange words under his breath. Only now did Tyren notice the man's clothes; pure white leather with glowing white stones inlaid in it covered him from head to toe. Light brown hides stitched together provided movable joints in the armor, while intricate designs reminded Tyren of a tree's roots. The strange man carried two things on his back; a large, dark leather satchel, and a staff.

The staff was long, almost as long as the stranger himself, and it seemed to grow as Tyren watched! Green buds and leaves sprouted over it, bloomed, and then faded. To Tyren, it seemed as if the staff was _breathing_, and it exhaled life!

"Great spirit Elune, I ask your blessing this night." The stranger muttered softly, and moonlight illuminated the cottage.

"Let life bloom in this young girl, let her flourish with it, and be transformed by it!" Sweat appeared on the man's brow, and with a sudden gasp, Contessa took a deep breath! Freyn's hand shot to her husband's, and neither dared to breathe as they watched.

"Let this girl, who is pure as the night, be rejuvenated by your light. Let your power heal her, and mend her soul." Contessa's eyes fluttered, and her skin turned from its pale hue to as vibrant a tan as Tyrne's!

"Let new life grow, and let re-growth begin! Cleanse her body, lift this curse, and touch her soul!" The man jumped back, panting from exertion, as Contessa sat up in bed! Moonlight beamed furiously into the cottage, almost burning Tyren with its intensity! The shadow of the tall stranger covered the girl, and she looked up at her healer.

"Who are you?" She asked breathlessly, and for the first time in a long time, she was alive!

"My name is… unpronounceable in your tongue. But it means Multi-shift." He smiled down at her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Was that… magic? Have you enchanted our daughter?" Freyn accused, almost fearful as she looked at her now healthy girl. Multi-shift shook his head slowly.

"My 'magic' is not the enchantment you fear. The spirit that guides my people is a loving, and caring one. Through this spirit, Elune, life can be coaxed back into where it once was. I have not harmed your daughter, only strengthened her. I have rejuvenated the spirit that burned within her. And burn it does!" He laughed softly, and it sounded like a river running over rocks.

"This girl is _strong_ with the Light! Light that is reflected off of the great moon, light that fills us all! But this girl, this girl will do great things. Guard her well, for in her time, this young girl will protect the innocent, and banish evil. Just as her brother will, in _his _time." He turned now to Tyren, still standing dumbfounded behind him. Tyren gulped, loudly, and struggled to speak.

"Me? Strong with the Light?"

"Tyren, you will grow into the greatest champion of the light my people will ever know! Travel this world, see its wonder, but never forget what is greatest of all." Multi-shift turned to the three humans inside the cottage.

"The Light is absolute, and the shadow is far reaching. But what is there to conceal, but life? What is there to illuminate, but the children of the Light? Go forward with confidence, and bring Light to where it is most sorely needed. That, is my humble request." And without another word, the man left the cottage. The moonlight still projected his silhouette, but as they watched, it shrank. In but a moment, the form of a crow perched on a wooden rail. It squawked, loudly, and then flew into the night.

It wasn't until the next morning that the Jotuns noticed all that the stranger had done. Not only was Contessa a bright, healthy, and strong young girl, but other things had changed. Their overworked nag, Roren, was suddenly as playful as a foal! She pulled her loads willingly, as if she were anxious to work! The clouds _finally_ parted, and the sun shone over their home! The land was dark, rich, and healthy, and the Jotuns couldn't hold all of the crops that seemed to spring up from the ground overnight! Tyren returned to his studies, hoping against hope that the wonders he'd seen would somehow affect him. That now, finally, the Light would answer him.

Tyren stood in the forest, wearing his new chain-mail armor. Iron rings covered him from head to toe, and he loved the feel of them. He held onto his bronze hammer tightly, massaging it around in his palm. His wooden shield hung on his arm, strapped on securely for combat. He stared at his target. Two wooden poles and a sack of dirt, arranged to look somewhat like a humanoid figure.

"Light of Lights, hear my call, banish blight, and let judgment fall!" Tyren spoke loudly, chanting the old words his mentor had taught him. Nothing happened. A squirrel stood nearby, amused at the sight.

"What are you looking at?" He sneered, wishing he were at least alone in his failure. The animal chattered loudly, and then scurried up a tree. In the distance, Tyren could hear hooves beating! He raised his shield instinctively, and grasped his hammer tighter. A brown mare roared into the clearing, with a young woman clinging to her back. The look of fear in both their eyes was plain to see. And running behind her, was the largest wolf Tyren had ever seen.

"Get behind me!" He shouted, almost without thinking. He stared down the wolf, and his enemy snarled up at him. But Tyren wasn't afraid. And for the first time, a golden light burned in his eyes.


End file.
